Impulse
by Lfoguardgirl11
Summary: Wilson is suffering emotionally after House is admitted to Mayfield; his life is falling apart beneath him. He turns to a different type of addiction- cutting.
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: I don't own House MD, only the plot.

Okay, after reading my reviews, I decided to completely rewrite this chapter. Yeah, to put it plain and simply, it sucked. But, hopefully this one is better. By the way, I'm sorry for being all critical about "not writing more with out reviews." Sorry. But, I loved the criticism. Honestly!

So, Enjoy!

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Chapter 1

James Wilson sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, his covers falling to his mid-drift. Scratching his neck, he turned his head slightly to glance at his alarm clock places curiously close to an empty coffee cup. He sighed and lay back down on his pillow as the reality of the red numbers hit him like a ton of bricks. The daunting glow read 3:36 AM; he had to be at work at 5:30.

Over the past few hours, Wilson's mind had been reviewing the events of the last month.

His best friend-Gregory House- (who happened to be the most stubborn person he knew) had admitted himself to Mayfield about a month ago. His reasoning had been that his Viconin abuse had caused him to hallucinate Wilson's dead girlfriend and sex with the DON of medicine, Lisa Cuddy.

Sure, Wilson had gone to visit House several times, but it pained him to see his best friend so open and exposed like a raw burn.

Another thing that had been weighing on his shoulders had been a recent death. About a week ago his mother called him informing him that his father had a horrible stroke. The ambulance had rushed him to the nearest hospital, but he was declared DOA.

Wilson's eyes traced markings on his white ceiling as if they would offer him answers, but instead they haunted him. Through the many years Wilson had lived in that apartment those patterned markings hadn't changed like his life had so much. He envied the unchanging markings, he hated change.

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A sudden buzzing jerked him awake. Sometime in his thinking he had finally drifted into some sort of sleeping. He quickly got out of bed and headed out of his bedroom towards the bathroom after turning off the alarm. He turned the shower to a hot setting as he stripped his boxers. After a few moments, he stepped in.

Almost immediately, his wrist started burning. His eyes snapped to it in surprise. The memory replayed itself.

_**The night before – 12 pm **_

_Wilson laid the phone on his nightstand that he had just been talking to his mother on. It was decided that his father was to be cremated._

_Beside where he laid the phone was a picture frame. Inside it was a black and white photograph of his parents on their wedding day. He could clearly hear what his father would say every time he saw the picture. _

_"Her eyes were so beautiful that day… and her dress…" he would start, each time the ending was different._

_Eventually James would cut him off saying with a chuckle, "You can't remember that, you can hardly remember mom's birthday."_

_Then his father would give him a small side hug while saying, "That's right, but that why I have you, Son." _

_Wilson looked away as his eyes clouded up. He wandered into the restroom, wiping at his eyes, frustrated. Grown men aren't supposed to cry._

_When he got into the restroom, he stood in front of the mirror, prepping himself to shave. After that, he slid the razor across his cheek, his mind still on his father. _

_A few seconds later he suddenly pulled the razor back like it shocked him- he had nicked himself. Ann odd feeling flooded him as he felt the stinging of it while he watched it bleed… Relief? He began to wonder…He picked up his razor and sat on the bathroom floor in the corner between the toilet and the wall, his intention was to dissect the razor to retrieve a blade. After ten or fifteen minutes of fumbling with it, he got a blade lose. His breath quickened as he held the cold titanium blade to his exposed wrist. His closed his eyes, his mouth suddenly dry. What would House think?_

_'You're weak. Deal with your emotions, not mask them with physical pain. That's childish.' _

_And with that thought, he drug it across his wrist._

Now, in the shower, the single three inch long cut was a pink beacon, obvious to the naked eye. It was position right on the wrist bone. He sighed, 'What have I done?'

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At work:

Wilson began to fix his coffee, hoping he'd have at least thirty minutes to himself before a patient. But, he had no such luck. As soon as the thought left his brain, Cuddy let herself in. "You have a case, Dr. Wilson." She held out a yellow folder to him.

He motioned with his hand to lay it on his desk as he poured himself some coffee. He then offered her some, she shook her head. "No thanks."

He nodded as she began to leave. She stopped. "You look pale, James," she said politely. "Are you okay?"

'No!' He wanted to scream. He wanted to yelled and pour out everything to his boss and cry like the baby he felt like. But instead impulse kicked in and he answered quickly, "I'm fine."

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Note: Yes, I know Wilson's father didn't die in the series, I obviously made that up


	2. Chapter 2

This one is a tad short, I apologize. I was going through my documents and realized I still had this.. I don't know if I'm going to finish the story... I might, I might not. A lot of time has passed since I started it... Reviews would still be nice though. Thank you to all my readers. (:

DISCLAIMER: I do not own House MD. Just this plot.

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Impulse

Chapter 2

Wilson sighed and ran his hands through his brown hair as he struggled to concentrate on the file infront of him. Over the past few minutes of staring at the paper, he had only managed to get as far as "Medical History". The only noise in the room was the clicking of his pen against the desk.

He laid the file down, unable to focus long enough to read it. In order to distract himself, he began to organize his desk. (Lord knows it needed it.) While he was doing so, he noticed a little pink note that seemed slightly out of place. It was from his secertary. It read in her loopy cursive "One new message. Urgent." Wilson bit his lip as he read it, he hoped it wasn't about a patient. Wilson rarely checked his office phone since he gave all his patients his cell and home number anyways. He looked over at his office phone to notice the red message light blinking.

He slowly walked over to the tan phone and picked the receiver up, then proceeded to dail his voice mail.

"One new message," the monotone female informed him, "Friday, May 21st." That was a little more than a week ago, the day before his father died.

"Hello, James. This is your father. I tried to call your cell, but it seems to be off, and your not answering your house phone. I'm calling because I feel like we left off on a bad note last time you visited. I wanted to apologize for it. Give me a call when you get this. I love you, Son."

Once again, Wilson bit his lip, but harder, as he hung it up. "…Love you, too, Dad." That was just like his dad, apologizing for something that wasn't his fault.

Wilson's eyes watered up and this time he didn't bother to try and stop them. He sat down in his desk chair and buried his head in his shaking hands. After a few minutes, he looked up from them. He knew he had to calm down and actually get something done before Cuddy figured out something was wrong- she wasn't stupid. He closed his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths that was still masked by tears.

He went to grab the folder when his elbow knocked over a vase on his desk. It then fell to the floor and shattered into about fifteen pieces. Instead of reactting, he stared at the broken pieces, tears still silently falling down his aged cheeks. With a slightly shaking hand, hereached for a medium sized shard. He examined it, fingering the sides. 'Wow, that's pretty sharp,' he thought.

His father's voice still echoed in his head. He sighed as he looked to the glass fragment, the tip seemed to be mocking him. He closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths. Finally, he just tucked the piece away in his jacket pocket. He couldn't do anything like that now, not after listening to that voice message from his father.

He then excused himself from his office to grab a quick snack from the machines. As he went through the rest of the work day, he found it slightly easier to concentrate, occasionally slipping his hand into his pocket where the shard of glass resided, feeling the sharp tip.

After work:

Wilson had just packed his belongings and was heading toward the elevator that would lead him to the ground floor right by the exit- the less he saw of Cuddy the better. He couldn't risk anymore finding out about what he did; it would put his career as an oncologist in serious jeporday.

As he opened the door to his tiny silver car and sat down on the leather seat, he thought, "Maybe I should visit House." He buckled himself in and tossed his bag into his passenger seat as he decided that he would do just that.

As he drove, he turned on the radio to help him clear his mind. To his relief for some reason, he caught every red light. Why was he nervous about visiting his best friend whom he had visited many times since he was admited?

After thirty minutes or so, Wilson pulled into the parking lot of the mental hospital. As he got out, he looked around the huge parking lot- it was nearly empty. It was always nearly empty. He wondered why the parking lot was so big if it wasn't ever even half full…


End file.
